Lesson Plan
by MizJoely
Summary: Professor Holmes is intrigued by his student, Miss Molly Hooper. It was supposed to be a simple undercover job, but his above-average student complicates things in a very delightful way. (Inspired by the cover image!)
1. Student-Teacher Relations

_A/N: A smutty (starting next chapter) three- or four-shot professor!lock dedicated to allthebellsinvenice for many reasons. I suppose this could be read as dubcon but I've tried to make it very clear that everything that happens, Molly agrees to (and I made her 18 in case anyone's wondering)._

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Professor Sherlock Holmes idly flipped through a book of romantic poetry he'd pulled at random off the shelf behind him. He was sitting in the private library belonging to the staff at the small public school where he currently taught a variety of subjects. Waiting. He knew she would come; she always did when he summoned her for a private tutorial, even when said summoning consisted only of a certain look...as it had today. A look she'd responded to with a slight catch of breath, a faint hint of pink to her cheeks before she'd ducked her head and hurried off, books clutched tightly to her chest.

He certainly hadn't started out to seduce a student when he'd accepted this temporary posting at his brother Mycroft's behest. Of course he'd been bored out of his mind from day one, but the long con that was being played out against the Headmistress required an equally long commitment from himself, so he'd made sure to leave plenty of free time in his schedule to take on short-term outside cases as they presented themselves. Unfortunately none had presented themselves to him since the Christmas holidays, which was when Miss Hooper had first caught his attention.

He'd noticed her before, of course, as one of the few bright spots in an otherwise boring academic landscape; a quiet, serious-minded young lady who was here on scholarship, had few but very loyal friends, and no boyfriends either openly or on the sly (or romantic female partners, for that matter). She was what a previous generation might have termed 'bookish', wore black-rimmed rectangular glasses for reading, kept her chestnut-colored hair long but neatly contained within a braid or single tail tied at the back of her neck…and of course her mind was a step above ordinary. She would make a good career for herself once she finished whatever program she entered into after graduation – something in the sciences, he judged based on her curriculum and side studies, or possibly the medical field.

During the Christmas holidays he'd been forced to remain on campus as the suspect had been expected to make a move at that time. Excitingly enough, he hadn't, which had considerably increased Sherlock's interest in the case and also raised his opinion of the suspect's intelligence.

It had also, however, left him rusticating in the middle of nowhere without much to occupy his time other than reading or surfing the internet, both boring. Or else deducing what little he hadn't already from the few other staff and students who either had no family to return to or didn't celebrate Christmas. Miss Hooper, it would seem, was in the former category, although decidedly not in the latter; he'd come across her attempting to smuggle a small bit of greenery into her bedroom in the middle of the night. "Because it's just not Christmas without a tree, Professor," she'd tried to explain, while he busied himself looking stern and disapproving when secretly he was rather tickled by her small rebellion. Normally Miss Hooper was a girl who obeyed the rules almost to a fault, and because of that and his own private amusement – well, and because he honestly couldn't give two figs for the rule – he let her off with a stern warning not to attempt any such tomfoolery in future.

She'd ducked her head and mumbled her thanks, hugging the pine branches to her chest as if they were the most precious items in her possession. Later, when he leaned how important Christmas had always been to her father, who had died not quite two years ago, he would come to understand how accurate that observation was.

He'd sought her out on Boxing Day, offering his services as private tutor, with no hidden agenda for once other than a desire to learn more about the surprising Miss Molly Hooper. It was an idle and yet useful way for them both to pass the time and would be helpful in her future endeavors. She'd stammered out her thanks and blushed, which he'd taken entirely for embarrassment, although he knew better now.

His lips curled in a smile at the memory of their first session in this very room; an accidental touch of his hand against hers as he pointed something out in her chemistry text had pinkened her cheeks and put the stammer back in her voice. Curiosity and something else, the part of himself he normally kept very tightly under control, stirred within his mind, and he'd decided to conduct a little experiment to judge the depths of her interest in him as something other than an educational resource.

In that spirit he allowed himself another 'accidental' touch, his fingers brushing against hers, and noted with pleasure the definite shiver that went over her petite form. And when he leaned over to demonstrate the proper rendition of a formula on her notepad, resting one hand lightly on her shoulder, she shivered again, her cheeks flushing an even brighter pink than before.

Two days later they were discussing a particularly sticky maths problem when she piqued his interest in an entirely different manner. During his tenure here he'd cultivated the appearance of a stuffy, dogmatic bore, exactly the sort of professor parents wanted around their adolescent daughters. But Molly, it appeared, had already seen through that façade; as he demonstrated why she'd got the maths problem wrong, he caught her looking at him with a bit of a knowing smile on her lips. "A problem, Miss Hooper?" he said stiffly.

Her mouth dropped open as she realized she'd been caught staring. "Oh!" she exclaimed nervously, fidgeting with her textbook. "N-nothing, Professor. It was…"

"I doubt it was 'nothing' that was distracting you," he retorted. "I hope you know that you can speak freely in front of me. Certainly when we are alone," he added, in an effort to discern if her thoughts had been wandering down certain naughty pathways.

But no; instead, she surprised him by saying, "It's just that…you're not actually a professor, are you. I mean, not a proper one, not like the face you've been showing everyone else."

He frowned at her; he was the one who was supposed to be deducing her, after all. "What makes you say that, Miss Hooper?" he asked, using his coldest and most intimidating tone.

Although she flushed and looked ready to bolt, she stood her ground – or rather, remained in her seat, hands clenched tightly around her pencil and notebook. "Because I've seen you, when you think no one's looking," she replied after a moment, her voice faint but becoming stronger as she met his eyes. "You look bored or distracted, and there's those times when you're absent for a day or two – three days, once, in November – and I can tell you think most of the other staff are stupid and useless even if you don't say so."

He nodded to indicate she should go on when she faltered to a stop, curious to see if there was anything more she'd noticed about him. She took a deep breath before blurting out, "And you get those odd messages on your mobile…I mean, no, I haven't read them!" she exclaimed, biting her lip and lowering her eyes as her entire face flushed red. "But you get them at odd times, and when you read them you have this grin sometimes, as if…as if you've received amazing news or heard from someone you've been missing. But I overheard you telling Miss Hedges that you have no family or close friends, and so I thought, well, it must be…something else," she'd concluded, rather lamely.

He hadn't expected her to notice much of anything at all about him besides his physical appearance and air of authority and perhaps his teaching skills. That was all anyone else seemed to notice about him in this place. She continued to surprise him, and his opinion of her intelligence continued to rise. So few people managed either, and to find both in one quiet, petite package that just so happened to be fitted out in a face and figure that exactly matched his tastes…well. There was absolutely no way he was going to let her slip through his fingers.

He didn't answer the unasked question regarding his phone calls and occasional absences, instead changing the subject back to maths and eventually to some questions she had regarding chemistry. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what he wished to study more of with Miss Hooper. She was ten years younger than he, nowhere near his genius level of intelligence and entirely unworldly; it was about time she was granted some mystery and excitement in her life.

Both of which he was all too happy to provide. Many would disapprove of his intentions toward her, but she was of legal age and clearly interested in the same sort of relationship he was, so he dismissed any concerns about what others might think. At the same time, he acknowledged that the clandestine nature of their personal interactions held as much appeal to him as it surely would to her.

All in all, he concluded, that initial experiment had been entirely successful. A week after she'd turned the tables on him and correctly deduced that he wasn't exactly who he claimed to be – although she still had no idea who he really was – he coaxed her into allowing him to kiss her, although he was very careful about when and where the kiss took place. Outside, on the grounds, far from the prying eyes of the few others still on campus, who were entirely uninterested in the pair of them anyway. Miss Hooper – Molly, although he rarely used her first name, enjoying the formality of their surnames even when he was whispering filthy suggestions in her ear – was considered a safe student, and he of course was far too staid and boring to do anything untoward with one of the girls.

If Molly retained any such beliefs about him, he was smugly certain he'd utterly destroyed them when he came to a stop behind a stand of pine trees on the western border of the school grounds. "Professor Holmes? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head and smiled at her, a warm, slow smile as he reached out and cupped her cheek with one hand. It was the first time he'd touched her deliberately, in a manner that could never be mistaken as an accident, and the same small shiver shook her form as his fingers caressed her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing deepened as he leaned forward and spoke softly, barely above a whisper, both hands cradling her head. "I'm going to kiss you, Miss Hooper. If that is not what you wish to happen right now, then all you need to do is step away."

When she remained unmoving, his smile deepened and he turned his head, brushing his lips gently across hers. She gave a little gasp and her hands came up to rest on his, sliding down to his wrists and holding on for dear life as he took immediate advantage of her opened mouth to deepen the kiss. She followed his lead eagerly, not at all shy about sliding her tongue along his or sucking his bottom lip into her mouth after he'd demonstrated the technique on hers.

When he pulled back after a moment to study her, he was pleased at how flushed her cheeks were, the dilation of her pupils and the ragged gasps her breathing had devolved into. He knew he presented a much cooler façade, could read the uncertainty in her eyes as he gazed at her, and gently took her hand in his and laid it over his chest. Her eyes widened as she felt the strong beat of his heart, and he smiled as he leaned forward to kiss her again…

A timid knock at the door caught his attention and brought him instantly back to the present. "Come in," he said crisply, and the door opened, revealing Molly's habitually uncertain smile as she peered into the room.

"You…you wanted to see me, Professor Holmes?"

He closed the book with a snap and a thin smile. "Ah, yes, Miss Hooper. Come in, please, and shut the door behind you."

She nodded and edged into the room, fidgeting nervously with her uniform tie with one hand while softly shutting the door behind her with the other. He heard the firm click of the latch and bit back another smile; she was such a good girl, she already knew the rules of this new game they were playing without his ever having said a word.


	2. Being Schooled

_A/N: Thanks as always for the lovely reviews, you guys always make my day! Sexytimes are coming, and I guess there's still a dubcon vibe to this since Sherlock's the professor and Molly's the student, but again, I hope I made it clear it's HER decision to continue things between them!_

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Molly forced herself to stop fidgeting with her tie as approached Professor Holmes, dropping her hands to her sides in a vain attempt at appearing casual. He was perched on the arm of the chair rather than seated in it properly; when she stopped in front of him, his head was just level with hers. She watched as he carefully placed the book he'd been holding on the low table in front of the chair, her heart beating a rapid tattoo in her chest as he then gave her one of _those_ smiles, the ones that nearly made her faint every single time. His eyes locked with hers as he reached out and lightly tugged her closer to him, one hand on her tie and the other grazing her hip. "So, Miss Hooper," he said, his voice deep and shiver-inducing as his grip on her tie tightened, "what shall we be…studying…today?"

"A-anatomy, sir," Molly stuttered out, faced flushed and palms suddenly very, very sweaty. This was a dangerous game she was playing, she knew it well, but ever since first laying eyes on the man currently tugging the knot of her school tie loose and gliding his fingers beneath the hem of her blouse, she'd been utterly and completely smitten. And not just some schoolgirl crush, either; it wasn't simply his piercing eyes or his gorgeous hair or amazingly fit body that captured her attention so completely, but his overwhelming, sometimes frightening intelligence. The more she discovered about him, the more she wanted to learn. Letting him flit in and out of her life without at least trying to get to know him better was simply not an option.

The mystery of who he actually was – surely not simply a professor! – was part of the attraction as well, but what drew her to him the most was his mind. She'd never met anyone like him before, in her admittedly limited life experience; no one with such dazzling brilliance that he only infrequently showed. She wondered if he was an undercover police officer, although she couldn't imagine what might be so interesting about her quiet little country school.

She wondered, but she never asked; he hadn't explicitly told her not to, but she'd quickly intuited that it was part of the dangerous, heady game they were playing. Well, she assumed it was merely a game to him, even though it was so much more to her. She also assumed that when she graduated come spring and left for uni, she would never see him again.

She assumed these things, but she actually had no clue what would happen then – nor did she care to speculate. She was eighteen, hardly a child, but she wasn't exactly an experienced woman of the world, either. She had no idea what went on in Professor Holmes' mind, what the end result of this dangerous flirtation would be or what he expected or truly wanted from her, but knew she wouldn't give it up for the world. And if that made her a bad girl or a slag or any other title her mother would no doubt sling at her if she ever found out, then so be it.

"Anatomy." He repeated her answer thoughtfully, and Molly felt those long, clever fingers of his ghosting over her abdomen where he'd tugged her blouse up and over her skirt. Her skin erupted in goosebumps, and his smiled darkened a bit, bringing a shiver down her back that had nothing to do with his actual touch. When he pulled his hands out and toyed with the first button on her blouse, raising a questioning eyebrow, she gave a tiny nod. Permission for him to go further than she'd allowed in the past. But how much further?

That question gave her pause, although she showed no outward sign, standing quietly as he made quick work of the buttons on her plain white blouse. Instead of removing her tie he simply left the loosened strip of fabric in place, pulling it free of her collar as he eased the blouse down her unresisting arms and allowed it to drop to the floor.

Pulse racing, she nibbled her bottom lip. How much further? Perhaps…all the way? Was she ready for that, only two months after that first, searing kiss he'd given her? Well, why not? That kiss, which seemed to burn on her lips even now, had taken place only a week after he'd first touched her. She'd felt a jolt of electricity when his fingers brushed across hers, and every time he'd touched her since then. She wanted him, so very badly, so why wait? If he was willing, then so was she. Never mind that she still knew next to nothing about who he actually was – he'd written several academic papers, but that and a few formal portraits and a very stilted biography were all she'd found on line. She hadn't asked him for details, and he hadn't offered them to her, but she just couldn't bring herself to care.

Whether he turned out to be a policeman or an art thief hiding out from the law, he was here, right now. With her. The rest was…well, she'd say academic, but he'd probably frown at her attempt at humor. She'd always been rather horrid at making jokes and hadn't ever tried one on him. No point in destroying his inexplicably good opinion of her, after all.

She licked her lips and tried a smile as she gazed directly into his eyes. They were more blue than green today, what she could see of them beyond the endless darkness of his blown-back pupils, and she imagined her own eyes had retreated to mere rims of brown as her breathing became labored. She dared to reach out and graze her hands along his jawline, feeling the muscles flex beneath her butterfly-soft touch.

"And exactly what aspect of anatomy are you interested in studying today, Miss Hooper?" Professor Holmes asked, his voice gone to that deeper register that she only heard him use when they were alone.

She felt his voice vibrating along her fingertips, and couldn't help wondering how it would feel on other parts of her body. So far he hadn't touched her anywhere below the belt, as it were, but she suspected – hoped – it was only because he was waiting for her to grant permission, silent or otherwise, for him to do so. "The f-female reproductive system."

The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them; mortified, she dropped her eyes. How ridiculous she sounded! But surely he would understand exactly what she was offering…the question was, would he take it?

Her tension dissipated as she heard him laugh, a deep, rich chortle, and dared to meet his eyes once again. "Shall we begin with an exploration of the female secondary sexual characteristics?" he asked, eyes burning with what she chose to interpret as desire. Without waiting for an answer he undid the front clasp to her bra and cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbs brushing her nipples so lightly she could barely feel it…and at the same time, could feel every touch as if his fingers were made of pure electricity.

"You're very sensitive, I see," he murmured approvingly. "Not all women are. It often correlates to breast size, although not always." His lecturing voice by itself could weaken her knees, let alone his lecturing voice delivering such a delightfully filthy – and yet perfectly academic – statement.

Molly's hands had lowered to his shoulders as he spoke; although her eyes kept trying to flutter shut, she forced them to stay open, to meet his as long as he kept his gaze trained on her face. Their previous encounters had taught her that one single lapse was enough to end their private 'session', and now that she knew she was ready to take this just as far as he was willing to go, she had no desire to prematurely end things.

As if reading her thoughts, he kept his unwavering gaze on her even as his thumbs continued to tease her nipples with the softest of touches, his palms warm on the tender undersides of her breasts. When he lightly pinched her right nipple, she gasped in surprise and pleasure, feeling the growing dampness between her legs that developed at each clandestine encounter, wondering if he could smell how much she wanted him as well as read it in her features.

Professor Holmes lowered his head until his nose was brushing against her left nipple, and Molly sucked in a breath, eyes finally snapping shut and heat flooding her body from her core outward. Her hands were shaking and she tightened her grip on his shoulders as he finally caught her nipple in his mouth and suckled it. She gasped, knees shaking, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her closer, so she stood between his thighs with his hands on the bare skin of her back. Supporting her, keeping her steady, but not holding her so tightly she could ever mistake security for imprisonment.

Knowing that everything that had happened and would happen between them would be her choice was all Molly needed to completely give herself over to him. As if sensing the surrender in her, Professor Holmes pulled his mouth away from her breast and tilted his head upward. She opened her eyes instantly, meeting his gaze without hesitation. Before he could say anything, ask what it was he clearly was about to ask her, she nodded. "Yes," she said, willing him to understand. "Yes, Professor. Anything you want."

**oOo**

Sherlock's brow raised; so soon, she was ready for the next step so soon? He studied her, searching for any signs of hesitation or discomfort and finding none. He'd never formally engaged in any sort of dominance and submission play, although he was vaguely aware there were rules and safe words involved; however, he deduced that such things would be unnecessary in this situation. If Miss Hooper indicated her desire for such in future, he would of course acquiesce.

That, however, was for the future. Right now all he was interested in was hearing her say his name as she achieved orgasm. "Kneel down," he said roughly, feeling his burgeoning erection straining against the suddenly too-tight grey trousers he was wearing. He released his hold on her, waiting for her to obey, to step back and then sink gracefully to her knees before he slowly, carefully undid the buttons on his matching grey waistcoat and white shirt. Her sensible white cotton brassiere hung on her shoulders, framing her perfect little breasts, and her school tie was draped between them, just begging to be tugged on. "Undo your hair," he ordered her as he removed his shirt, pleased at the way her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest. He was hardly a bronze god, but his musculature was more than adequate and he was vain enough to enjoy her obvious appreciation of his semi-nude form.

He joined her on the plush carpeting, although the sight of her kneeling at his feet had suggested an alternate activity. One that would be quite enjoyable for him and very likely for her as well, but was not the goal of today's altered agenda. Another time; perhaps in a storage cupboard, where the sense of sight would be forbidden to them both, where they would be reduced to a universe of sound and smell and touch and taste…

"Undo my trousers," he said, and her sweet compliance nearly shattered his intention to take things slowly. His hand twisted in the tie still hanging around her neck, and he tugged it lightly in order to catch her attention. "Kiss me," he said huskily even as her fingers fumbled at his belt. It would be more difficult for her if she couldn't see what she was doing, but it would only prolong the pleasure for him.

Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his; he eased the bra straps off her arms and dropped the scrap of fabric onto the floor next to her discarded blouse. He toed his shoes off and felt her moving to do the same. He would remove her knee-length socks himself, he resolved, then returned his full attention to kissing her, his other hand winding itself through the freed locks of her hair, directing the movements of her head and eliciting a soft moan of desire from her lips.

He'd kissed her several times since that first encounter behind the pine trees, and each experience had only served to increase his desire for her – and hers for him. She'd certainly become much more of an expert in what he liked, nipping at his lips with her perfect white teeth, licking the corners of his mouth, even sucking gently on the tip of his tongue as she pressed her body against his.

After her fumbling attempts at opening his trousers finally ended in success, he undid the zip on the side of her navy-and-gray plaid skirt and slid the rough woolen fabric down her legs. When she made to rise up in order to get the skirt past her knees, he gave another tug on her tie and shook his head, instead guiding her hands back to his trousers. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion for only the briefest of seconds, then her fingers were helping to pull his garments, trousers and pants together, down to his knees, freeing his cock to her gaze.

He let her look her fill, making no effort to guide her in this next step, calling on reserves of patience he otherwise would have denied having. She was nibbling on her lower lip, eyes wide open as she studied him, and if it had been possible he suspected her face would have flushed even redder. Her eyes darted up to meet his, then back down again as one hand hovered over the turgid flesh. He nodded, and her teeth clamped down on the tip of her tongue as she slowly lowered her hand until her fingers finally grazed the tip of his cock. It jumped a bit beneath her hesitant touch, and a small squeak of surprise escaped her lips.

Sherlock laughed softly and guided her hand, which she'd snatched away as if burnt, back to his cock. Slowly, gently but firmly, he curled her fingers until she was holding him, slid her hand up and down a few times until she seemed confident enough for him to let go and let her try it on her own. "It only seems fair to include the male reproductive system and sexual characteristics in our anatomy discussion," he rumbled, reaching up and smoothly palming her sweet breasts before leaning down to take her left nipple into his mouth once again, greatly enjoying her gasp of pleasure as he did so. By the time this particular 'lesson' had ended, he'd resolved to make her call his name at least twice, possibly three times.

He eased her down onto the floor, his tongue swirling around her nipple, switching to the other breast and giving it much the same treatment while she writhed beneath him making soft mewling noises that went right to his groin. She'd released her hold on him, which was fine; this was about her – her pleasure, her sexual awakening if one were waxing poetic, her introduction to the enjoyment to be found in the arms of a skilled and masterful lover, which Sherlock most certainly was. A bit out of practice, perhaps, but it was certainly all coming back to him with a great deal of ease.

He knelt back up for a moment, just long enough to fully remove his trousers while she lay obediently on her back, hands by her sides, the girlish uniform skirt still bunched around her knees. Once he was fully nude, he wasted no time in removing it and the knee socks, leaving only her crisp white knickers to offer her any semblance of modesty.

He took a moment to gaze down at her with carefully restrained hunger, drinking in the sight of her combined anticipation and trepidation; her hands were trembling slightly, as were her lips as she stared up at him. Her hair was fanned out behind her, obscuring the details of the rich Persian carpet on which she lay, but the muted colors showed off the rest of her soft, pink body to perfection. "Beautiful," he breathed, then lowered himself over her, pressing his body to hers and sinking into another worshipful kiss at the same time.


	3. Scholarly Pursuits

_A/N: A thank you as always to my followers and lovely reviewers. And a special thank you to allthebellsinvenice for helping Professor Holmes get his dirty talk on. Warnings for smut!_

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Molly couldn't keep her hands to herself, wouldn't have been able to resist touching that perfect, lean body even if he'd commanded her to do so. She touched his arms, his shoulders, finally twining her fingers in the soft, gingery locks that crowned his head. Although she'd noted his body hair had a similar shade, she'd also noted that his roots appeared to be somewhat darker, as if he colored his hair. Something to ask about, or at least ponder, when she was alone and remembering every detail about this encounter.

Later. Right now he was lecturing her about female anatomy, in keeping with the supposed topic of their 'lesson' – in between soft kisses to the parts in question. Her throat, her clavicle, each breast, her midsection, the hollow below her hip… "Oh!" she gasped as his mouth settled on her sex, still covered by her modest white knickers but certainly soaking through the cotton fabric enough for him to…

"Shall I taste you, Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked as she raised herself on her elbows and stared dizzily down at him. "Would you like that, do you think?" He gave her another one of those slow, wicked smiles as he met her dazzled gaze. "I know I certainly will."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he raised himself up to his knees; then his fingers danced over her legs, directing her to bend them and plant her feet flat on the carpet. She watched, wide-eyed, as he drew her knickers down to her knees, from there to her ankles, where he lifted each foot in turn and eased them free of her body.

Instead of simply tossing them aside or piling them with her other clothing, Professor Holmes slowly lifted them to his face and took a deep sniff. Molly let out a whimper at the sight, automatically closing her thighs in an attempt to soothe the deep ache that had developed between her legs.

She watched avidly as he grinned down at her, then balled up her knickers, turned and reached for his trousers, and stuffed them into one of the pockets. From the other he pulled out a small foil square, and her eyes widened further in alarm and arousal; had he planned this, had he known that today was the day she gave herself to him?

"I always keep one handy, Miss Hooper," he said in response to her unspoken questions. He laid the condom deliberately next to her right hand. "When you're ready for me, then open this and I'll help you put it on. If that day isn't today, then we'll simply keep it handy for the next time."

Molly felt her sudden tension entirely dissipate at those words. He was still giving her the choice, the control; if they moved beyond what had already occurred between them, it would be entirely up to her. And if they didn't actually have sex today, he was letting her know that he was willing to wait.

That there would be another chance for them.

_No_, she decided. Not later. _Now_. She was greedy for him; she'd never wanted anyone like this, and who knew when whatever it was that had brought him to her school would once again take him away? "I think…you might have said something a-about…tasting?" she found herself asking, marveling at her sudden boldness.

The smile he gave her in response was entirely predatory; he lowered himself back to the floor, resting on his elbows with his face just above her sex, his hands reaching around to cradle her bum. Then, with a single, smouldering look, he lowered his head and dipped his tongue into her slick folds.

Molly dug the heels of her hands into her mouth, her fingers pressing against her forehead, in an attempt to stifle her moans and gasps of pleasure as Professor Holmes demonstrated his expert knowledge of female anatomy via the medium of his clever, talented lips and tongue. When he teased her clitoris a low, keening wail tried to force itself through her lips; Molly desperately did her best to hold it back.

"Let it out, Molly," Professor Holmes growled, pulling up and staring at her, his mouth and chin shiny with her juices. "No one can hear us, they're all at the other end of the building or away on errands." God, it was obscene, it was filthy, it was wrong, but all she wanted to do was pull him down to her for a kiss, to taste herself on his lips. But first she wanted to fall over that edge, the one he'd been driving her toward, the one that she'd willingly plunged over many times since first meeting him, if only at her own hands. Aided, of course, by fantasies that paled in comparison to the real thing. When he dove back between her legs, working her mercilessly with her tongue, his fingers joining in unexpectedly – she hadn't even felt him let go of her bum – it was mere seconds before she found herself once more on the brink, and her cries of pleasure sounded very loud to her ears even as she vainly attempted to muffle them with her hands.

As she trembled and shook, shuddering with each little aftershock, eyes clenched tightly shut, she felt him moving, shifting until he lay next to her. He kissed her shoulder and she turned blindly toward him, groping for his head, pulling his face down to hers and surrendering to her desire to taste, to breathe in their mingled scents, one hand reaching for the small foil packet he'd entrusted to her care. "Now," she breathed when the kiss ended. The taste of herself was sour, musky, and entirely intoxicating merely because it was on his lips. "Please, Professor. Now."

Then she pressed the condom into his hand, opening her eyes to meet his so he could see how very, very ready she was for him.

**oOo**

Sherlock didn't bother asking Molly if she was sure; he could read it on her face, in her eyes, in her relaxed and eager body language. Without a word he ripped open the small package and rolled the condom onto his throbbing cock. It was amazing what sex did to the intellect, he mused as he reached down and slid two fingers into Molly's soft, wet, pussy; even though he knew all the technical terms for the male and female sexual organs, all he could think of at the moment was the basest, most vulgar words.

And he loved it. He leaned over Molly's eager body, taking himself in hand and pressing the tip of his cock against her opening, whispering a stream of filthy suggestions into her ear as he did so. "I want you, Miss Hooper, so very badly, and I wonder if you want me as much as want you? Do you want to feel me inside you as much as I want to feel your sweet little pussy around my cock? Do you want to call my name as you come as much as I want to hear you saying it? Will you call me Sherlock, I wonder, or will it still be Professor Holmes you cry out for?"

Molly was making a series of inarticulate noises as he spoke, clutching him tightly to her body as he slid teasingly in and out, shallow thrusts that barely touched against her intact hymen. "Tell me you want me to fuck you, Miss Hooper. Tell me you want me as much as I want you. Tell me you understand that even though it might be uncomfortable for you, that you know I've done my level best to assure that it isn't actually painful. Can you say that for me?"

"I want you," she gasped out, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she thrust her hips upward, tiny movements but forceful as she attempted to feel him deeper inside her. "I w-want you to f-fuck me," she said, turning bright red as she did so. It was the first time she'd uttered that particular vulgarity, and he exulted in the sound of it falling from her lips.

Before he progressed any further, however, he needed more. He waited until she was able to meet his gaze, waiting for her nod before pressing his cock deeper inside, encouraged by the way she tensed and then immediately, deliberately relaxed her body. He gave a few experimental thrusts; there it was, the expected barrier, but one determined surge forward and he was through, deep inside her, stilling himself as her fingers dug into his shoulders and her breathing shortened into heavy pants. When she opened her eyes and nodded, he began moving, slow steady thrusts to help her through the burn of losing her virginity.

He supposed he ought to feel some sort of satisfaction at being the one to 'deflower' Molly; some sort of male egotistical sense of accomplishment that he'd been her first, but the truth was that he wouldn't have cared if she'd had a hundred lovers before him. It wasn't her innocence that drew him to her, but her intellect. Yes, her body was sweet; slender in form, softly curved and dotted with freckles here and there, but it was the mind her body housed that had initially attracted him to her. Without it, there would have been no point to this seduction.

However, there was also something to be said for the way she was softly gasping as her fingers eased their tight grip on his shoulders, for the way her eyes had fallen so tightly shut, the way the sweat was beading on her brow and the becoming flush that had covered her cheeks. Her lips were parted and he couldn't resist the urge to press a soft kiss to them as he felt her body tensing beneath his. "Why, Miss Hooper," he rumbled against her lips as her thrust became harder, more demanding, meeting his with a fierceness he hadn't expected so soon. "Is it possible that you're about to come again?"

Her response was a low moan that vibrated against his lips. He increased the speed and depths of his thrusts, reaching for her wrist and bringing her hand down between their bodies. "Come for me again, Molly," he whispered, turning his head and brushing his lips against her ear. "Let me feel you." Reaching for the tie, he gave it a sharp tug, turning her head so that his lips brushed against hers, and growled out, "_Now_."

As soon as the shriek tore itself from her throat he kissed her, feeling her body bucking beneath his as he greedily swallowed down her cries of passion. He kept a tight hold on the school tie, not choking her, simply anchoring himself as he felt his own release building. Before she'd stopped moving against him, going limp and panting for breath, he reached his climax, gritting his teeth against his own urge to cry out, resting his sweat-dampened forehead against her shoulder as he gave a powerful, final thrust and rode out their shared aftershocks.

When both of them had recovered enough to move, he carefully pulled out of her, tying off the used condom and disposing of it in the nearby bin. After making a mental note to bring it to the rubbish tip himself and save any raised eyebrows by the cleaning staff, he returned his attention to Molly.

She was staring up at him, eyes wide, lips trembling as if she were about to cry, not the reaction he'd been hoping for but not entirely unexpected considering the magnitude of what they'd just done. Not only had she given up her virginity, a supposedly precious commodity although he'd never understood why so much value was placed upon something so ridiculous, but she'd done so with a man ten years older than herself. On the floor of a library. In her school. He could almost see the panic trying to thread its way through her mind as her eyes darted around and she hurriedly raised herself to her elbows. He silently offered her his hand, wondering if he could find the right words to ease her frantic worries, to let her know that she was still just as valuable, just as important to him as she'd always been…

"Oh my God, Professor! You could lose your job over this! Or, or even go to jail! I'm..I'm sorry!" she gasped as she scrambled around, grabbing for her clothes and haphazardly throwing them back on.

He blinked and stared at her, brows lowered in confusion, then found his mouth gaping open as the meaning of her words crashed over him. She wasn't worried about herself, she was worried about him! "Molly," he said, speaking her Christian name aloud for the first time. She paused in her panicky movements, looking at him uncertainly. He held his hand out again, quirking an eyebrow and adopting his sternest, most intimidating expression. The one he'd painstakingly taught her to respond to without thinking.

She took his hand immediately, obeying his tug and rejoining him on the floor, kneeling in front of him. He glanced briefly at the carpet, noting one small smear of blood that would have to be cleaned up, easy enough, he would take care of it as soon as he'd finished reassuring Molly and sent her on her way.

"You have absolutely no reason to worry about me, Molly Hooper," he said, keeping his tone firm and even. "Even if we are ever found out, there will be no legal repercussions to me, and your reputation will remain spotless."

"I don't care about my rep –" she started to say, but he hushed her with a stern look and one finger pressed to her lips.

"I, however, do," he said, allowing the faintest hint of disapproval to enter his voice. Instantly her eyes dropped and he felt the way her teeth tugged at her bottom lip beneath his finger. He slid the tip along the edge of her lips, rubbing lightly until she opened for him, tongue darting out to taste the saltiness there. "I don't ever want you to either fret over consequences to me for our actions, or dismiss your own importance in comparison to mine." He allowed his voice to slip over into full sternness. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied as he pulled his finger away, gliding his hand along her cheek before removing it entirely. There was a faint blush on her cheeks again, this time having nothing to do with panic and everything, he thought smugly, to do with the effect he continued to have on her.

He reached out and tugged her forward by her tie once more, to press a lingering kiss to her lips. "Tell me, Miss Hooper, do you feel you've been properly tutored on the subject matter today?" he asked teasingly when the kiss ended.

She responded with a solemn nod and a bashful smile, cheeks still pink. "I just hope you won't mind if I need to brush up on the finer points now and then," she said, her smile turning cheeky.

"Count on it," he replied, then kissed her one last time before allowing her to redress herself while he did the same and tidied up the small bit of mess they'd made.

After she left, closing the door quietly behind her, he wondered how long it would take her to realize she'd never been given her knickers.


End file.
